Of the Lost
by ThatWriterGuy12
Summary: The Great War is over, the Elves are still labeled as outsiders with the Orcs and Mages with an unstable peace. However, the survivors are trying to get by and on the elvish front they are trying to start a revolution.


Prologue

Thunder swept across the land. It was a calling out from the Gods, forsaken by their children, they roared and rained down lightning upon them as well. For a moment, all of creation seemed lit. From the far corners of the Dark Sea to the tops of the snow-covered Forgotten Mountains, night turned to day, and then everything went black again. Answering the Heavens were the depths of the abyss with their mighty waves, crashing against the rocks that guard the Islands of the Lost, and turning to a white foam that washes away chips of wood and blood from previous unsuccessful voyages. Another flash of lightning illuminated the lighthouse that lay abandoned since Before the Fourth Moon, before the Great War, before everything went to Hell.

Overlooking the waters that seemed to crash endlessly was Deldrach, one of the last remaining Elves in Nuzec. His features spoke of an old man, far beyond the years he had lived. Every line that appeared on his face seemed to tell its own tale. _Here is where I lost my first battle, here is where I gave up hope. _Despite the howling wind, the only thing that moved was his tattered cloak, which billowed according to the whims of the Gods. Many Moons ago, the cloak was worn by his Great-great-great Grandfather, Jassin. He had been a true warrior, leading legions of elves against mages from the west and orcs from the south. Its once purple appearance had been worn down to a dullish drey, and the golden lace at the borders had weathered away as well. The original brass clip had been lost, Deldrach liked to think it had been ripped away in battle, but with how many hands had touched the cloak, it was most likely lost to time.

The flat rock that Deldrach was standing on began to shake, his eyes drifted down and measured his stance. The land which he stood on was poisoned land, nothing had grown there since the Great War. Not even the Coasary, which only grows in the most barren of lands can breach the parched landscape. Even the air was different here, thick with the stench of death, heavy with the loss of hope. It was, 'bad land,' as the orcs called it. Despite its danger, it was the one place that the remaining elves could conjugate in peace. In so many ways they were considered outsiders, so claiming a patch of land that no one wanted anything to do with seemed fitting. There were none of Deldrach's people with him today, rather, he had been visiting the altar devoted to the fallen elves, and the one human that helped them in the Great War. being sentimental is not something that Deldrach often felt, but reverence for the dead is something that was passed along and he did feel some comfort in being by his kin.

'Are cin ennas adar?' Deldrach asked as he looked down at the Statue of Kyrenic, the bravest elf to ever dawn armor 'are you there, father?' Deldrach asked again

There was no answer.

Legends spoke of a realm where the warrior elves lived on as spirits, guiding the current generation through their thoughts, Deldrach was beginning to think that was a lie. Everything it seemed was a lie.

Another flash of lightning and a roll of thunder, this time the thunder continued longer than before, giving Deldrach pause. He turned from his peak and looked towards the horizon, a shadow was forming, darker than the night. Deldrach set his feet as he had been taught and done so many times before, ready to attack. In his right hand was his spear, fashioned from the Spirit Wood before the orcs burned the forest to the ground, it was as strong as it was true. He held it with two hands, crossed against his body and waited. Slowly the shadow came forward, each crack of lightning made it easier to see. It seemed to jump dozens if not hundreds of feet at a time. As it approached, the lightning became sparse and when the shadow was within just fifty feet of Deldrach, the light ceased for good.

Deldrach threw his spear as hard as he could directly at where the shadow was, then he reached behind his back and pulled his bow. He rolled to his right and found a large, jagged rock that he could hide behind while he waited for the shadow. With arrow drawn Deldrach began counting silently to himself, knowing that shadows move at a certain pace. What happened next surprised him however, instead of the shadow moving forward and overtaking him, there was a loud clunk. The shadow had thrown the spear back. Then, a voice that sounded like it was an echo from the abyss emanated from the darkness.

'You've run well enough elf. It's time to turn yourself in.'

Deldrach hesitated, he knew the shadow was not going to hurt him, but to face him meant revealing his face, something he had fought to keep hidden over the many moons.

'The mages are on their way, elf. Do not stain your peoples ground with blood.' The voice sounded menacing this time, like a vicious creature with blood on its teeth

'Sorcery.' Grumbled Deldrach, he slowly moved into sight and retrieved his spear

Although there was no light, he could plainly see the shadow's outline. Staring into it was something he had been told never to do. According to his mentor, shadows hold the souls of prisoners forced to work for eternity. Moving quickly, Deldrach back peddled to his original place of rest, still staring into the shadow.

'Tell your master that I have no regrets, and if by chance I'm ever captured, it will be on my terms.' Deldrach proclaimed, with the jagged rocks below, he fell backwards and watched as the shadow hurried to the edge.

The shadow never saw him hit the rocks.


End file.
